


Your Fate is Not Your Own

by Yel_Ashaya



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Battle of Sundari, Canonical Character Death, Darth Maul Needs a Hug, Darth Maul Redemption, Desire, Emotionally Repressed, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Force Bond (Star Wars), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Love/Hate, Pining Darth Maul, Planet Dathomir (Star Wars), Planet Mandalore (Star Wars), Repressed Memories, Revenge, Savage Opress has an apprentice, Slow Burn, The Force, Touch-Starved, Unrequited Love, Wrongful Imprisonment, Zabraks (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28640634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yel_Ashaya/pseuds/Yel_Ashaya
Summary: Mandalore is in chaos. Death Watch’s brief reign is at an end but the planet now has a much more dangerous power on its throne, Maul. An encounter on Sundari presents Maul with an unmissable opportunity, a young woman who is strong in the Force. Maul doesn't care for her beauty... but he can see how dangerous she is, and he knows that he must harness that power. Maul’s plan: to shape and twist her into an Apprentice for his loyal brother Savage, and to use her as a weapon against the Jedi.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, CT-7567 | Rex & Ahsoka Tano, CT-7567 | Rex & Anakin Skywalker, Darth Maul/Original Character(s), Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Savage Opress/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N: okay... my first _Star Wars_ fic. Yes, _The Mandalorian_ is my new obsession. Yes, I did watch _The Clone Wars_ and _Rebels_ (*sigh* Kanan) and now I'm slightly in love with all of it! Baby Yoda (obviously) renewed my love for the fandom, having watched the films a few times... and yes, now I know how much of a big deal it was to have Bo-Katan, Ahsoka and Thrawn in _The Mandalorian,_ and yes, Darth Maul really did something to me!**

**Anyway... I hope whoever reads this enjoys it! I really did have to work hard not to include any Treknobabble!**

  
“I can sense your fear.” His voice was ice. She froze.

She knew he was there. That someone was there. The windows were tall, broad and the orange sun threatened to blind her. Shards of light fell, dispersed, could have consumed her.

Slowly, she turned around, her hands leaving the cold wall. Her breath was ragged, her heart was thumping in her chest. She could taste salt, bile. She stood, silently, stared at him. She knew him. She had seen him, had heard what he had done. And she knew what he was capable of, what he could do to her.

“I’m afraid?” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper, her gaze fixed on his yellow, unblinking eyes. Her words were heavy, resonated, in her helmet. “You’re the one who’s cloaked, hiding in a corner.” Nothing but an outline, menacing and enthroned, revealed itself to her. She knew that voice. She could see the turrets of horns upon his head.

“Zabraks do not hide.” His words were smooth, almost soft. If he had been anyone else, if this had been any other situation, she might have called his voice tender. Then he stepped out of the shadows, metal bootprints heavy and quick on the concrete floor of the Grand Salon. He stalked then was still, considering.

“Then you can’t be a very good one,” she quipped, before realising what she had said, as she focused on his golden eyes, his scarlet face, marked with black and rage. She could see nothing but what the shadows revealed.

“Yes, I am cloaked but there is more than this darkness that shrouds me. You would not understand.” The corners of his mouth curled, twisted. He was smiling.

“I don’t want to understand.” She looked away, if only to catch her breath. She _dared_ to look away. That was her mistake.

Unseen, he reached his hand out then, long gloved fingers curling into a fist. Her throat caught, she was winded. She was also floating, flying. She kicked, wanted — no, _needed —_ to feel the ground beneath her feet. Gasping, with unseen eyes, she stared at him, pleading. Not that pleading could help her. It was his whim, and so it would happen. The air was tight, warm and she was stuck and her helmet was suffocating her. Then she was free. Through her visor, she saw that his sneer faded and his hand dropped back down to his side and she dropped back down to the floor. She was curled up, wrenching, almost writhing, as she struggled to compose herself.

Drawing herself back up, she looked out of the window. Sundari. Mandalore. That was all she could see. That was all she knew. The moment she glanced back at him, he was further than before and yet she hadn’t noticed him move. Narrowing her gaze, she watched him, alarmed, alert and ready. Her helmet flashed up warnings, beeps, lights. She turned them off. Was still.

Her hand moved to her hip, her fingers curling around the barrel of her blaster. It wouldn’t take long, would it? She would reach down, draw it out, aim it, fire it. He wouldn’t see it but he would feel it. Yet the lightsaber hanging at his side told her differently. Then she could move no more. He was not force-choking her. He hadn’t crept over to her to restrain her but he was looking at her, glaring at her. That seemed to be enough, for she was held, imprisoned, in his gaze.

“I do hope you weren’t going to use that?”

“Use it?” Her voice cracked, her words deserted her, as she pulled the blaster out. She saw his eyes widen ever so briefly, as if he were… indignant. Then she dropped it and it hit the floor with a clatter. “I wasn’t going to use it.”

His mouth curved into a grim, self-satisfied smile. “Good,” he said smoothly, his eyes flickering down to the discarded blaster-pistol.

And then she was crossing the distance between the two of them. “Why?” She was pursing her lips, waiting, daring him to look her in the eyes, to see her fear and her fierceness.

“I don’t think you are in any position to be asking questions.” He gestured to the blaster and it raised up, floated over to him. It settled in his hands and he felt the weight of it. It was heavy and yet it was nothing.

“I can go?”

He laughed, a short, quick cackle. “You wouldn’t want to go.” He studied her, considered. Her helmet would not reveal her face, her identity. It didn’t matter. He could see her shape through the fabric, through the armour. Curves, slenderness, fierce. He knew who she was and yet he regarded her all the same.

“Why? What are you offering?” Then she caught herself, shook her head, and her narrowed eyes grew wide. The ground shook, somewhere outside a rabble rose, was shouting. A rebellion. Then the tremor became so much more, and the building seemed as if it could have been ripped from its foundations. She wondered which of her friends the explosion had consumed. “No, whatever it is, I’m not interested.”

Completely nonplussed by the shudder, the explosion, he gave a heavy shrug, and with blaster in hand, he slunk over to the throne. The throne to Mandalore. Treating it as if it were but a simple barstool. And it made her sick. Her people, her traditions. They were nothing to him. Then… she thought. He was nothing to her, either. His legs dangled lazily, and on his mouth was a sneer.

“I am offering you your freedom.”

“My freedom is not yours to give.”

“Besides,” he carried on, waving a hand. The movement startled her and she reached up to her neck but nothing came. “Your blaster, I fear, will prove far less useful than the weapon that you deserve.”

“This—” She realised where it was, in whose possession it was now in. “That blaster… it’s a sign of my people.”

 _“Your_ people?”

“I am not Mandalorian by birth, no,” she conceded. Then she caught herself, realised that she had tripped, and he wasn’t about to catch her. “How did you—?”

“I have had my suspicions.”

Suspicions. A cold shiver wracked through her, destroyed her. Every imagined voice, laugh, face, warning, whisper, howl of the wind, none of them were imagined. She had been watched, for so long but always by the same face, by the same golden eyes.

Dramatically, emphatically, he sighed. “Mandalorians aren’t Force-users. Their like hasn’t been recorded for one thousand years.”

He knew. And that was enough for hot tears to spring up, to burn her, to suffocate her.

“Surely, you know what they did to your family?” He paused, sneered, came closer to her. “What they’ll do to you.”

“You don’t know anything.” She was glad for her helmet, for he couldn’t see her tears. She folded her arms, glared at him though all he saw was the blank helmet dipped slightly downwards. “Not if I can help it.”

“There’s not a lot you can help, I am afraid,” he said, and his words were solemn, sombre, cold.

“Whatever,” she muttered, daring herself to look away from him. And this time, it paid off.

Maul sighed, leisurely drew himself from the throne, twirling the blaster carelessly in his fingers. He threw it at her and her fumbling hands caught it. He began to pace.

“You may use it,” he muttered. “I can sense that you would like to.”

“Did you need the Force to tell you that?” she asked with a snort.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t force-choke her, either. That was a start.

She hadn’t wanted to give him the satisfaction but then she reconsidered. She didn’t have anything to lose. Briefly, she looked down at the blaster. Her fingers sought out the trigger, found it, pulled.

A spark of red erupted, shot across the hall. It was met by shimmering grey-black, and there was the hum of the double-ended lightsaber catching the energy. It fizzed, was silent.

Now, Maul was smiling.

She raised an eyebrow, stalked over to him, something which seemed to amuse him. And she was speechless.

“That’s… no.” She shook her head, desperately telling herself that she was wrong. “That’s the Darksaber.”

“How very perceptive of you.”

If she didn’t have her helmet on, Maul would no doubt have grinned. He would’ve seen her wide eyes, her quivering lower lip, her quick breathing.

“Only a Mandalorian can use that. Tarre Viszla—”

He shot a silencing hand up, and she was quiet. “Yes, yes. I'm sure the history is fascinating.”

She crossed the hall in a few seconds, the light from the windows painting her, framing her, and she had the horrible feeling that the whole of Mandalore could see her. None of that mattered. What mattered was that she had handed her blaster over to Maul, over to the pretender who had slaughtered the rightful ruler and had taken her throne.

Maul didn’t snatch the blaster, didn’t seem desperate to have it. He let her slide it into his hand, his gloved hands scraping against her cold fingers, and then he waved her away and she stepped down the steps, away from the throne. Once again, she was alone, surrounded by nothing but vast space and silence, except for the cloaked Zabrak.

“You’ve made your point,” she said roughly. She told herself that she wasn’t nothing, that she wasn’t insignificant, that a kick from one of Maul’s mechanised legs wouldn’t send her hurtling not only across the room but also very likely through the walls and down onto the streets below.

He placed the blaster on the floor. Then he stepped on it and with a crash and a spark, it was crushed.

She looked down at it, at the weapon that had been at her side for so long, that had protected her, fought for her, and yet she wasn’t sad. Hatred boiled over inside of her and she scowled at him.

“War is a way of life for your people, isn’t it?” And then a dark smile twisted upon his features. “For the Mandalorians, I mean.”

“You haven’t exactly helped us with achieving peace.”

He blinked. But he would not be beaten and the dark smile returned.

“You don’t have any family, do you?” she started, faltered, furrowed her brow.

“I am a Nightbrother. Family is all that I know.”

Whatever that last sentence had made her think, she ignored it, could’ve laughed at herself for it. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“I have a brother. Savage.”

The air in her helmet was hot, stale, and she needed to breathe. “Who?”

Maul rolled his eyes, waved a hand, and the walls around them seemed to shake. She gasped, ordered herself to be still. She moved her gaze away from the fizzling wreckage of the blaster, away from Maul’s dangerously smug face, and towards the hulking figure who was slowly walking over to them. Two eyes, orange beacons, came closer.

“I think I’ve heard _quite_ enough,” Maul said, and he sounded almost as if he would _yawn._

She bit her bottom lip, crossed her arms and her gaze settled upon Savage. To her dismay, she saw that he, too, had a lightsaber hanging from his belt. It looked ridiculously small, almost non-threatening, compared to his bulk. Maul was strong, she could see that, and yet his brother was nothing but muscle, sinew, uncompromising rage and power. Power that knew no control.

Savage bowed his horned head, his unblinking gaze steadily on Maul and never once straying over to her.

“He is?”

Her surprise seemed to annoy Maul, and that, at least, amused her somewhat. Maul was calm, considered. He nodded and seemed to regarded his brother not with love or even respect but with _need._ “He is.”

“But he’s—” she broke off, unsure of how to carry on. A smile threatened to show itself upon her lips and her voice was playful.

“Yellow?” There was that sigh again, that irritation, that threat.

Then the smile showed itself and she was beaming underneath her helmet. “Well, yes…yellow. But he’s _big.”_

Maul raised an eyebrow, and he was fighting to appear tired but failing. “Big?” he asked, with a heavy sigh.

“That’s an understatement,” she murmured. “And you’re, well, normal.”

“There’s nothing normal about me.” For a minute, she thought, _feared,_ that he would raise his hand again, that he would curl his knuckles into a fist and squeeze. He took another step towards her then turned his back on her, walked away. “Size doesn’t necessarily guarantee quality.”

“Don’t you ever presume to know.” He curled his lip, and she knew that she was on a knife’s edge now, that she had been all along. “To understand.”

“You’re right,” she said, defeated. “I could never know. I don’t want to understand.”

“And yet.” His voice was soft now but it was still there, that danger, that threat. She didn’t let down her guard. “I know you. I understand you.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You don’t . You understand nothing!” She was angry now.

“I do,” he muttered. “I’m going to tell you something and I’d like for you to listen very carefully.” He was speaking so quietly, his voice so low, his head cast down, that she nearly believed they were alone. That the whole of Mandalore wasn’t staring in through the windows, that Savage wasn’t standing, hulking by the wall, one huge hand forever hovering over his lightsaber.

She swallowed. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to know.”

“I think you do already.” Then he was still, silent. He spoke again, purposefully. “I was once a prisoner, as you are now.”

“Don’t tell me,” she said flatly. “Of yourself?”

He made a noise that, if he had been anyone else, she would’ve called a laugh. “No, of someone who thought he was more powerful than me.”

“He wasn’t?”

“He wasn’t.” Despite the ease with which he had said it, the nonchalance and the patience, she could hear it. She could see it in his face. The anguish, the torment, the pain. All caused by one person, and her Maul would never escape. She saw all of it. And yet she didn’t know who the tormentor was.

“Where are you going with this?” She had lost all fear now. All she wanted was answers.

“We’re the same.”

Her mouth fell open and words fought desperately to come out. They wouldn’t . She caught herself, knowing that no good would come from overindulging herself. Her breathing was shallow as she walked over to him. She wondered if the ground shook again, if there was another explosion. There was no explosion, only Savage coming to stand behind her. A shadow fell as Maul raised a hand, waved lazily to the doorway through which she had skulked in, as Maul had stood, hidden, mocking, in an unlit corner.

“Wait, I don’t understand.” She had raised a hand.

The corner of Maul’s mouth curved, became a cruel smile. He blinked, nodded but not at her. At Savage. She felt fingers curl around her shoulder, and she could move nowhere. The huge Zabrak was pushing her, _steering_ her, towards that door.

“Brother,” Maul called out

Almost painfully, Savage came to a standstill. He waited, grip forever on her shoulder, right and unyielding.

She reached up, desperate to calm the bruised skin but meeting only Savage’s metal gauntlet.

“I forgot to ask for the lady’s name.”

Savage grunted, turned her around and gave her a shove.

“Lorelei.”

Maul said no more and didn’t even look as his brother herded her out of the room, out of his view. She could think of nothing else.

In the dim light of the hallway, she was quiet as Savage dragged her, pulled her, stopped. He was still. Unnerved but not undeterred, she looked back at him and he did not look down. She blinked, tired, frustrated. She wanted to take her helmet off but she couldn’t. She didn’t want Maul to see her face. And she didn’t want Savage to, either. She could feel the sting of the stress in her face, taste the salt of the tears, and she knew she looked terrified. And she wasn’t going to let them see that. Not if she could help it.

Savage, it seemed, wanted to be there even less than she did.

She took a breath, stepped forward, relieved to find that the Zabrak’s hand was no longer on her, though she could still feel the imprint of his fingers. She wanted nothing more than to hurl herself down the hallway, to wait until the lumbering Zabrak had turned away, and _run._ But the lightsaber hanging from his belt told her that she wouldn’t get too far, told her that he has the Force, too, and she knew he would use it. The way that he had looked at Maul. Such obedience. Such devotion. Such blindness. Then something else caught her eye.

As another explosion rocked another part of Mandalore, of the world that had taken her in and called her its own, she looked at the walls. Pure white, polished, with pictures adorning every free space. She recognised them. Artworks of Mandalore’s past, of its warriors charging into battle, of its glorious landscapes, of its heroism and ideals. And yet none of the ruins that it had now become. Nothing of Maul’s treacherous hands as they tore away at everything that made Mandalore what it was, what it had been, what it should be.

She was sick. Sure enough, another cursory glance revealed that Savage was still there, unmoving, behind her.

“You must really trust your brother,” she eventually said, fear pounding in her chest.

The Zabrak met her gaze slowly, unwillingly. He grunted. “Who I trust is not your business.”

“You’re right,” she said softly, the words hollow and quiet in her helmet. “My business is knowing what’s going to happen to me.”

Savage narrowed his golden eyes, pursed his lips, and said nothing. But she heard the fizz of electricity, and closed her eyes. Waited. But nothing came. Nothing except the feeling of handcuffs, pressing against her wrists. The Zabrak grabbed her hands, held them behind her back, ignored her yelp of pain, and then began walking. Marching, even.

“Where are we going?”

“The royal prison.”

**A/N: hope everyone enjoyed it and thank you for reading! What does Maul have planned for Lorelei?**


	2. Chapter 2

And she was screaming. Her hands were still. Her arms… she couldn’t move them. And her legs were not her own. She could feel them, and yet she couldn’t, and she wanted to lash out, to thrash. But she couldn’t. She was unmoved, immovable, still, vulnerable.

But she had to move, had to remove her helmet, before she suffocated, before she fainted, before Maul had won. She pulled it off, set it down beside herself, breathed in stale air.

Then she saw it. Herself. The cell was small, impenetrable. The glass walls were windows and they mocked her, let her see what was outside, what was where she could not go. She hadn’t even remembered getting there. She had. Yes. Him. Maul. She knew where he was, that he was sauntering and swaggering, treating the Royal Salon as if it were is own, as if he hadn’t stolen it.

Lorelei could have laughed, had she not been faced with the reflection staring back at her, at the blackened and sooty face, forehead slicked with sweat from her helmet. She felt lighter, patted her thigh, realised that her blaster was gone. That it was lying in pieces on the floor of the throne room, of Maul’s throne room. The face was pale, drawn, the full lips were faded and dry and the blue eyes were full of terror.

The darkness was all-consuming then. She could hear Maul’s self-righteous cackling, feel Savage’s sinewy hands as he had fastened the handcuffs around her wrists. But neither of them were there now. They had gone. And she was alone.

She wasn’t trapped now. Yes, she was in a cell. But she could _move._ Her hand still resting on her thigh, she picked herself up, drew herself into a sitting position, realised that she had been deposited rather unceremoniously on a pallet-like bed. And then she knew why the horror stories of the royal prison were founded, why people were right to fear it.

Everywhere she looked, whether up or down, left or right, she saw cages, electricity keeping their occupants imprisoned, suspended high in the air, in the underbelly of Sundari.

The irony was painful. She wasn’t Mandalorian and now the planet’s foremost enemy had imprisoned her in Sundari’s own royal prison. She wasn’t born a Mandalorian. But she had been taken in by the people of Mandalore, had been looked after by them, and she trusted them as if she was one of them.

The pallet almost amused her. It amused her that she had managed to get a degree of rest on it, that she had managed to sleep to such an extent that she couldn’t even remember getting there.

She was not tired. A sigh pushed through her, became a racking sob and she glanced at her helmet, as it sat on the table. Hot tears burned, her breath caught, her mouth trembled. She clawed her way along the smooth glass walls and she knew that smoke would still be rising in the hills, that cries would still be coming from the distance.

But she couldn’t hear the footsteps or see the figure who had deactivated the force field.

Steeling herself, she bit her lip, turned around. Her hand wandered to her face, smoothed her sooty cheeks, wiped her sweaty brow. She winced, waited, watched.

“I realise you won’t have had much time to settle in,” he said, sweeping into the room. He made note of her face and was aware that she seemed more vulnerable, even less Mandalorian, without her helmet on. He made note of her parted lips, full but quivering, and her mussed hair as it framed her face. She might have looked less Mandalorian, less threatening… but she did not look scared.

She flinched, went to retrieve her helmet. She could not move. His hand was out, lazily, as he drew the helmet towards himself. He held it, weighed it, laughed.

He made a motion as if to drop it, and she lurched forwards. Within a second, she was holding it. He had never given it to her, and she had never knelt down to pick it up.

“Well done.”

“Well done?” She scowled. “For picking up a helmet?”

He shook his head and a smile twisted upon his features, teeth flashing. “You didn’t pick it up. You know that as well as I do. You have the Force. Do not deny it.”

“I—”

“You ought to choose your next words very carefully,” he said and his voice was cold, hard.

“I was going to say,” Lorelei breathed, dragging her fingers across the scarred metalwork of the helmet. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” She stopped and she wanted to look out of the window, in the vain hopes that she would see the planet that she remembered. She could not. All that she could see was him, staring and smirking.

She stood. He towered over her. And she was intimidated but determined, and she had so many questions.

“I can move objects with my mind. I can speak to people without talking.”

Maul blinked, as if amused by the simplicity of her words.

“But I don’t want to. I don’t want to be a part of whatever you’re proposing,” she finished, meeting his eyes, fiery and golden as they were.

He raised a hand, shook his head. “Oh, I think _proposing_ was an insensible choice of word. You see, I’m not suggesting a business venture, a mission. That’s not really what I do.”

“What you do is conquer worlds and then claim them as your own,” she hissed.

“You’ve been paying attention then?” Then he draped his hands behind his back, began to pace. He was thinking, focusing, though she could not see it, and her helmet lifted itself once more from the pallet, and floated over to him. It hung there, still, in the air, until he took hold of it.

He felt its weight, frowned. “You Mandalorians take pride in your armour.”

“We do.”

“I need no armour.” Then he dropped the helmet. It hit the floor with a thud, rolled, was still.

She glanced down at his legs, colossal and metal. But she said nothing, nearly becoming breathless at the memory of a Force-choke.

“You don’t need armour because you’ve got the Darksaber. That would give power to the weakest of men, the weakest of rulers, and what more proof of that do you need?”

His hand curled into a fist. She gasped, and her wide eyes told him that he had made his point. He released her.

“Do I have the Darksaber on me?” he asked, and his tone was less challenging and more theatrical.

She was forced to shake her head. He didn’t. But he did have something else at his waist. She didn’t know what it was. Whatever she had been thinking it was… it couldn’t have been true. She almost laughed. It hummed, seemed to be singing to her, and she could understand it. Then she faltered, and it stopped singing, as Maul lifted it from his belt.

Realisation hit her, as a wave hits the rocks, and but for her curiosity, she would’ve been speechless. “You’re a Jedi, and I want nothing to do with you.”

The sheer indignation, the offence, carved into his scarlet face was enough to make a smile curve upon her mouth.

“I’m no Jedi,” he spat.

“No?”

He sighed, looked away as if pained. “You don’t know of the Sith?” Absently, he reached a hand up, rubbed one of his horns.

“If they’re anything like the Jedi then all you do is interfere, pillage, take what’s not yours. And Mandalore has had enough of that. I’ve had enough of that.”

Then he ignited his lightsaber, and she blinked at its crimson glow.

He curled his lip. “Then you don’t know anything.”

“Even if I did, I get the feeling that you’d tell me anyway.”

Her sharpness, her wit, the way that she seemed to _delight_ in proving him wrong… it distressed, even _infuriated,_ him and yet he did not stop her. He looked at her and he wanted to see a _loth cat,_ a _gorg,_ some tiny, defenceless animal. But he did not and he couldn’t make himself see that. Her saw her determination, her fury, her anger, and it ignited in him the memory of his own self. And it was a painful memory.

“You can sense it, can’t you?”

She nodded, wavering but not unsure. Still, she couldn’t deny it. She could’ve lied. But she had the sickening, curious, feeling that if she could _sense_ his lightsaber, he would _know_ if she was telling the truth. And then she was reminded of what he had said to her before – not that she knew _when_ he had said it. Hours, days. She wasn’t sure.

“I—” She faltered, wonder briefly if by refusing to listen to him, by refusing to talk to him, it wouldn’t be real. She wanted to laugh at herself. “I can hear it. It’s… I don’t know… it’s talking to me. I don’t know what it’s saying – if it’s saying anything.”

“It’s not what it’s telling you that is important,” Maul then said swiftly, deactivating the lightsaber. Closely, he watched as its crimson blades ceased to glow, as the warm light stopped illuminating her inquisitive, vulnerable, face. “You must focus on what it is making you feel.”

“It’s not making me feel anything.”

She hadn’t even _thought_ before speaking, and she heard him growl. There was no other way to describe it. It wasn’t a groan or a sigh of dismay. But it _was_ low, guttural, animalistic. He turned away, vicious.

“I was… rash,” he eventually said, speaking low. “And you are weak. I was foolish to think that—”

She thought, considered, this time before she said anything. “I can.”

Silence hung between the two of them then, with nothing but words unspoken separating them. The cell seemed so much larger, so much more threatening, than it had before. And she knew that now wasn’t the time for doubt, wasn’t the time for inaction, wasn’t the time for _foolishness._

“I can – I get a sense from it. It’s… I can feel.” But she couldn’t verbalise it, couldn’t tell him, even if she wanted to, even if she didn’t want anything else. It was starting to hurt now. Then something shot through her, and she half-wondered if she had been blind to Maul’s deceit, half-wondered if he had wounded her. He hadn’t. He was standing, pensive, hands folded behind his back, broad chest rising steadily and golden eyes fixed on her.

And with that shot, that sting, she reeled back, pressing the palm of her hand to the glass wall, trying desperately to steady herself. Digging her heels into the floor, she closed her eyes. Then her lips parted, and she knew what she wanted to say.

She stared at him, intent, tears pricking her vision. “Pain, agony, so much… so much terror. I can’t—”

“There is more?” He stepped forwards, eyes wide, intrigue allowing him this tiny little bit of interaction, letting him stand close to another being who wasn’t Savage or Mother Talzin or an opponent.

“There’s something else. Something that’s bigger.” And she screwed her eyes shut, tried to carve out a path for her thoughts follow, to focus them where they needed to be.

“Yes?” Though he already knew what the answer would be.

“Hatred.”

And the tears wanted to come out, made her open her eyes. Stinging and wet, she caught them, cleared her throat, and looked at him once more. She marvelled at how one person could feel such anger, harbour such hatred, such undiscriminating and tangible hatred, and it made her more scared of Maul than she ever thought she would be. That was what she felt from the lightsaber, from his lightsaber.

But she felt other emotions from him, and the small cell magnified them perfectly. There was pain, anguish. And hatred flowed through all of it, coursed its way through everything that she was sensing from him, and it made her sad, made her unsure of how to think of him. Then she knew. Jedi didn’t pride themselves on their emotions, on their connections to others. They forgot about them as much as they could, whilst Maul… he seemed to be feeding off them, off one emotion in particular. It made her sickened that one individual could think of nothing to look forward to but hatred, undiluted and directed and omnipotent.

She stilled her fears, her needs, and lowered herself onto the pallet. She picked up her helmet and for once, she didn’t feel the compulsion to put it on, to hide in the safety that it offered. The air was still, the room was silent, and she could hear his hollow breathing, as he looked at the helmet in her hands.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t get so comfortable.”

As she looked at him, she decided that he was the very antithesis of comfort. Then again, she wondered if he had ever felt comfort, if he had ever not had to look twice, think twice, watch his every movement, aware of duplicity and threats everywhere. That was something she wasn’t familiar with. At least, hadn’t been until she had found herself in the Royal Salon.

She crossed her legs, ran a hand through her hair, brushing it out of her eyes. Then deliberately, she set her helmet aside, levelled her gaze at Maul.

“Am I ever going to get out of here?”

Fierce, a smile flashed across his face. “Is it in your nature to be pessimistic?”

“Never.”

“Good.” His eyes were narrowed, as if working her out, and his smile was still there, still fierce, still challenging her to say something.

And yet that one word was all that she had.

Hands draped behind his back, he began to pace, glanced leisuredly through the glass walls. Steeling herself, _ordering_ herself to not be afraid, to not be vulnerable, she watched as he surveyed his dominion, as if a ruler of Mandalore of old. She laughed. Actually _laughed._ But he had heard her snort, and he snapped his head around, glared at her, burning.

“You must either be stupid or fearless.”

She blinked, stared. She’d been called both of those before. Perhaps she was a little bit of both. Then again, fearlessness was something that she needed, knew that she had to call upon. And perhaps she was neither.

“Now, you won’t be here for long. You have – impressed me, and I ought to reward you for that.” His words were sweeping, dangerous. “Not many people do that.”

She was tired, hurt. She was also intrigued. “How many?”

Then his fierce smile reappeared. It faded, and she knew that he wasn’t going to reply. He made to turn away, to leave, his hand hovering by the door. Before she knew what she had done, she jumped to her feet, had to stop herself from reaching out to take his arm, knowing that the next sensation she would feel would be an invisible hand closing around her throat, air underneath her feet.

But he didn’t need to feel her. He knew she was behind him, narrowed his eyes.

“Can I hold it?” she asked, eyes wide, voice a whisper. “Your lightsaber.”

For the briefest of moments, a silence passed between them, and he seemed to relax. He reached out his mind, felt for something tangible, something to hold onto, and found her thoughts. They were erratic, yes. They were confused, tangled up on fear and anger. And he knew that he could _use_ that. Knew that she wasn’t going to harm him… if he gave her the chance.

Concession was not something that came easily to Maul but he did not struggle as he had done in the past as he unclipped his lightsaber. She opened her hands, small and cold, curled her fingers around the lightsaber’s handle. It wasn’t heavy. But… it could do so much damage. She thought of Savage, of the acts of sheer strength that he must have been capable of, and shuddered to think of the damage that he could inflict with a lightsaber in his possession.

But she had one in her hands now. It felt… powerful.

Aware that his yellow eyes were on her, she ignited one end of the lightsaber, held it aloft, realised that she was marvelling not at its power but at its beauty, its intricacies, its craftsmanship. Looking over at Maul, she saw that his mouth twitched, as if he was going to talk. He said nothing but glanced down at the other end of the lightsaber.

In his mind, he saw Savage, saw his brother as he had knelt before him, as Maul had called him his apprentice. Maul thought of what it had been like to have someone to train, to shape and sculpt, to turn into a weapon for revenge, to restore what he had lost. Revenge. The word was always there, always inside of him. Savage was not a soldier, Maul knew that. But he was loyal, and he was strong, and Maul knew that his brother had saved him, knew that Savage would lay down his life for him.

As Lorelei ignited the other blade, the room was bathed in scarlet, and her helmet, with its Mandalorian markings, a reminder of everything that she was, seemed so small. Seemed discarded. She knew that she was being judged and she knew that she had to stop it. Quickly, she deactivated the lightsaber, thrust it back into Maul’s hands.

He stared at her, folded his hands around the lightsaber.

“I can’t.”

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“I do,” she quipped, slightly indignant. “I doubt there’s anyone in the Outer Rim who hasn’t heard of Darth Maul. I ought to know the name of the person who has overthrown my planet’s government and installed himself as ruler.”

“You ought to.” He waited for her to be silent, for her to stop sighing and opening her mouth to protest and shaking her head. “You have impressed me. You’ve taken my lightsaber, held it. You haven’t been threatened by what it could do. And so I’ll ask you again. What does it make you _feel?”_

“Powerful.”

He knew.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Chapter 3! Sorry for the late update but hope everyone's enjoying it :)**

It had been a day – a whole day – and she knew that she still wasn’t any further, wasn’t any closer to finding out the truth. She knew, _knew_ so well and so clearly, that Maul was watching her, scrutinising her, trying to understand her every word, move. She sat, eyes closed, breath steady, mind clear. As clear as it could be.

She was ever aware of him, and when she opened an eye as discretely as she could, she saw that he was fascinated, gaze hooked on her. He stood tall, menacing, hands draped behind his back, head low. And she was still sitting, legs crossed, trying desperately as he had asked. 

She could not.

And with a cry of despair, irritation, a noise that she had never known herself to make before, she opened her eyes, flashed a glower over at Maul, who did not flinch.

A sigh left her, and she was deflated. “I can’t – I can’t do it.”

“The Jedi—” he started, tearing his gaze away from her as if he was stomping down some unwanted, unbidden, memory. It seemed like a painful memory. “They would tell you to hide your emotions, to ignore their very existence.”

“And that’s… wrong?” She had asked it as a challenge, and she had spoken it more as a hiss than as a whisper. She would know his answer but she didn’t know what hers would be.

Maul pursed his lips, folded his arms. “It does not let someone reach their full potential. It chains them, restricts them, and that is why they will never succeed.”

Suddenly understanding, she nodded, looked up at him. She was now unaware of the coldness and the hardness of the floor. There was her and there was him – and she knew now what he was asking of her, what he needed of her.

“You want me to use my emotions.”

She had them, of course, and yet she had learned to call upon them only when needed, only when rational thought could serve her no more. Emotions. A grim laugh racked through her. As she looked at Maul, held him in her gaze, she wondered if she could feel a flicker of something. And then her grim smile became a grimace and she closed her eyes, knowing nothing but blackness and silence.

Then a voice, low, gruff. “You must channel them, sculpt them into what you want to know. It is not a question of calmness but of focusing your efforts, directing them at the most powerful emotion there is.”

“Love?” she whispered, eyes closed, legs crossed, hands resting on her knees.

“Hate.”

Goosebumps. Then she was reminded of how uncomfortable the floor was, of the smallness of the cell, of the closeness of the air, of who that voice belonged to. She gasped. Shooting to her feet, she backed into the wall, and Maul stared at he, as if he thought that she might try to hurl herself through the glass, no matter how futile that attempt might be.

She did not.

But she was breathing fast, grasping at her chest, shaking her head, brunette locks flying in her tear-stained face. Her helmet was still there, on the pallet. It was distant and she thought of her blaster, asked herself if it still lay broken on the floor of the Royal Salon or if it had already been carted off to waste disposal. 

“Ah,” he said with a sigh, sweeping past her and making for the door. He stopped, saw her hand clamped around his wrist, slender fingers holding him where he stood. He looked down, smirked.

Surprise, wonder, passed across her face. And then she smiled. It was her – she was holding him, keeping him there.

“Wait,” she said. “You want me to focus my emotions, to direct everything I feel into hate?”

He didn’t reply, didn’t speak, didn’t nod. His golden eyes revealed nothing.

“When I sat there, it’s like I could feel something else. I could sense you watching me. The Sith.”

He twitched then watched as she uncurled her hand from his arm. The forcefield was reignited as he stepped through, didn’t say anything as he stalked away.

He had gone, left, and she was lone. And yet she could feel it, feel something. Closing her eyes, she thought, determined to single out that one _something._ It was unknown, unseen, and yet she could feel it, knew that it was there. Something that she had never noticed before – if she had, she had pushed it to the back of her mind.

But now. _I can move objects with my mind. I can speak to people without talking._ Her words haunted her, laughed at her, and she couldn’t stand it. Saying it, giving form to those thoughts, had made them real. And she wasn’t sure if she was ready for that.

Yet another knock – a _thump –_ on the glass wall of her cell. She flinched, narrowed her eyes, hissed out a curse word as she saw who it was. Vast, still, his lips curled partway between a sneer and a growl. Animalistic, he watched her out of the corner of his eye, perpetually irritated, disgruntled.

It almost made her _smile._ If this was how he felt, how was she supposed to feel? Maul was _his_ brother, was supposed to be his confidant, the recipient of his trust and his adulation, and yet… there was something carved into Savage’s face, stonelike and unmoving as it was. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

As she drew herself to her feet, she approached him, eye-level with his chestplate, over which were crossed his broad arms. Clad head-to-toe in armour, he reflected the dim light of Sundari’s sun, which painfully reminded her of yet another reason why she hated the royal prison – it was so bright. The starlight leered at her, framed her in its brightness, and she couldn’t do anything but reach out and try and touch it.

Then he grunted, turned, arms still folded, brow furrowed. His footsteps made the ground shake, and she stepped back, flopped down onto the pallet, lay back. Trying to ward off the intense light, she pressed a hand to her face, rolled over on her side and faced away from the door. After shifting and turning and sighing, she sat back up, pursed her lips.

She knew that it was childish and silly but she did it all the same – she reached out for her helmet, cradled it in her arms and lay back down. And she could sleep.

Thrashing, writing, shaking, and then she was still. But she had been speaking, she had heard herself. She was asleep, wasn’t she? Dreaming… taking herself far away, so far away from where she was, where she would be for so long. And yet. She told herself that she was elsewhere, that she was surrounded by a gentle breeze, sat on a bed of soft grass, gazing upwards at the bluesy of skies.

She wasn’t.

She was being watched. Two eyes, bright and brooding, peered at her, and she focused, steadied her breathing. The tattoos, and his sheer height, made it so very difficult for her to make out his expression. He was frowning, she could see that. But she couldn’t see much more than that — she wondered if fear had skated over his face, and then that fear had swiftly gone. Brushing the hair out of her eyes, she swallowed, let the smallest of smiles cross over her cracked lips.

No.

Lorelei wondered exactly how long she’d slept for, and if she had actually even been asleep. If she hadn’t been in some sort of fever-induced trip, if she hadn’t been stuck in whatever meditative space Maul had had her in earlier. Whatever _earlier_ could be.

But it wasn’t Maul who was standing over her now. He wasn’t _this_ tall, _this stoic._ No. And Savage glared at her, snarled.

His bared teeth made her shiver but she tugged at her sleeves, tried to warm herself up. The air was still stale and she wanted desperately to breathe in something other than her own fear, to feel something if other than still air brush against her skin.

Her helmet leered at her. Mandalore. It wasn’t helping her now.

“The King of Mandalore has ordered that you attend to him in the royal salon.”

His words were so very slow, so very nonchalant, that she wanted to slap him. Not that it would’ve caused him the slightest amount of pain. But the indignation, the shock, that might’ve appeared on his face, would’ve been worth it.

And yet. She let him haul her to her feet, drag her through the doorway, guide her roughly along the walkway. Once again, she closed her eyes, cleared her mind, only to find everything clouded by… something, something unseen and unbidden. Savage curled his fingers round her shoulder, lead her through the cavernous corridors until she was back where she had started.

Until the Sith was staring her down.

He cleared his throat, legs still dangling lazily off the edge of the throne, eyes yellow and piercing and never letting her go.

“Do you think that you have what it takes?”

The question as no question, nothing but the vagueness with which it had been asked, and yet she knew exactly what he was talking about. And shivers ran down her spine. She thought about quipping a reply, saying something along the lines of, _Surely you can answer that for yourself? A great Sith Lord like yourself…_

But then.

She decided that she rather liked having her feet on the ground, and to not be frantically clawing at an unseen hand curled around her neck. So she didn’t say anything like that.

“It’s not a question of thinking,” she said finally, jaw set, shoulders squared. “But of knowing.”

From across the cavernous hall, she could see that a smile — cruel and vicious — had curled upon his mouth. And that smile gave way to a low, self-assured laugh.

“I wonder perhaps if you’ve been reading my mind,” he murmured, before suddenly uncrossing his legs and leaning forwards on the chair — she stopped herself — the _throne._

Maul sighed, hand wandering to his waist, settling upon the hilt of the Darksaber. Hard. Cold. Powerful. Dangerous. He drew out the saber, making sure to hold her gaze as he did it and he watched as she marvelled, as she tried to hide her fascination.

Lorelei had to stop herself, had to hold herself back, had to tell herself not to twitch, to shudder as she reached out, searching for a power that she knew would find her anyway. Whether she wanted it or not.

It lay there, still, in Maul’s palm. And it seemed so small, so insignificant.

Unknowingly, subconsciously, she took a step forwards, and Maul raised a gloved hand, a glower settling upon his features, twisting his black and red face.

And that look told her what she needed to know. What he wanted from her.

 _Don’t reach for it. It will come to you._ A pause. The longest of pauses. _If you are worthy of it._

For a second, she was lost, drowning, in confusion. Maul seemed to be worthy of the Darksaber and he was an enemy of Mandalore. The weapon certainly didn’t seem to be picky.

But she wasn’t discouraged.

She closed her eyes, opened her mind, let thoughts that had once been veiled and hidden out into the open, as she ones them, controlled them, and the saber shivered in Maul’s hand. Anger, fury – she directed all of it towards him. She saw in him the person who had come to her world as a stranger and was now ruling it as its leader. She would see him leave it as a loser, a traitor, wouldn’t she? She blinked, swallowed, shook her mind free of anything that was distracting, unnerving.

The Darksaber was lifted, hovered, brushed against Maul’s sharp nails and then it flew through the silent air of the Royal Salon.

It felt lighter than she had expected it to feel.

And she curled her fingers round its handle, raised it up, found that she was wide-eyed, awed, by its simplicity, its beauty. She could still hear — could still _feel —_ the buzz, the ring, in her ear from earlier on, before she had even ignited the saber. There was the history, the stories of battles long forgotten that the blade had played a role in, that it had likely caused or ended.

The Darksaber.

A weapon to slaughter enemies, a tool to build empires and it was in her hands. It was activated with a whoosh, almost shooting out of her grip. She fumbled but didn’t stumble, and caught it. Maul watched, from afar but ever so closely, as the saber’s almost black glow reflected onto her face.

She was biting her bottom lip, already taking up a defensive stance, feet planted underneath her, legs ready to spring, dodge and dance. Lifting her gaze, her eyes clung to Maul, and in the instant that she had blinked, he had activated his lightsaber. The double-ended blade gave him a scarlet aura, and his boot prints were heavy, deliberate, as he swaggered down the stone steps from the throne.

A _growl._ He had growled again, gaze pinned on her, chest rising steadily.

“Brother.”

For the shortest of seconds, Lorelei found herself staring at him. He had prepared her, she had prepared herself, and the Darksaber was getting heavier now, and yet Maul hadn’t even acknowledged her. His eyes flickered from her, dismissed her, and he nodded at Savage.

“Leave us.”

“Brother,” came Savage’s gruff voice, ready to protest. “Do you think—?”

 _Do you think that that’s wise?_ Lorelei narrowed her eyes. That’s why he was going to say. But Maul was fierce and he wasn’t a fool. He wasn’t about to get himself into something that he couldn’t get out of by himself, and Savage knew that. Or he didn’t know how to challenge Maul.

She knew full well that Savage wouldn’t stop to think twice before grabbing her and throwing her out of one of the windows. But only if Maul had asked him to, had told him to, had _ordered_ him to.

A wicked grin flashed over Maul’s face and his words dripped with intrigue, dangerous and visceral. “There is something that I would like to know.”

Lorelei didn’t even need to turn around to see that Savage had gone, that there weren’t any Mandalorian guards passing by. And she knew how Maul was going to know this _something_ but she didn’t know what that _something_ was.

And then he was getting closer and closer, hurtling towards her, teeth bared and gaze fixed.

She screwed her eyes shut, held the Darksaber aloft, felt its heat sear her cheeks, blister her lips, and then she felt nothing.

But she could hear noise. The buzzing, the spitting of the two blades, pressing against one another, pressing into one another. Her heart thumped. Blood rushed through her ears. Her mouth was dry.

He was baring down on her, the red from his blade threatening to swamp the black shadow of the Darksaber, and yet she found that she had someone else’s strength. Her feet ground into the floor, and she wondered if perhaps her toes were bleeding.

They weren’t. She was fine. Yes, there was a pounding in her chest, a tightness in her throat, a voice in her head telling her to let go. But she ignored everything.

She had the Darksaber in her hands. She was using it, wielding it. It nearly made her feel sick. She didn’t deserve it, hadn’t earned it. And yet… she wondered if it was _pride_ that she could feel, _pride_ in the fact that Maul had deemed her worthy. If she hadn’t been focusing all of her strength, all of her concentration, on holding her ground and holding back Maul, she would’ve laughed. She wanted to resent him so much. To hate him, for all that he had done to her people, her home and everything she thought she stood for. But by doing that, by giving into those feelings, she knew that he would win.

And so she determined for another strategy – for courage.

She and Maul, framed in the high windows, footsteps echoing in the large hall, facing one another and never once losing track of their fight. She paused. They were dancing, jumping and pouncing and pacing around each other like loth-cats. Saber met saber and the blades fizzed, crackled, simmered down once they left one another. But they were only apart for mere seconds, fleeting moments, before they clashed again.

He was fast, swift and always seemed to be able to anticipate her moves, to know what she was going to do even before she knew what she was going to do. And then he lunged. _Lunged._ Threw himself towards her as if it required no effort at all, spinning and slicing through the air.

She crouched. Didn’t even think. But crouched. Made herself as small as she could, concentrating on that on point, on that one need, and she raised the Darksaber, held it in front of her hunched over body. She didn’t close her eyes this time. No. They were open and she could see his shadow as it swirled towards her.

Then nothing.

She could feel nothing. But she was breathing, she knew that. They had fought, and she drew her head up from her shoulders, deactivated her saber. The blade ceased to shimmer and she saw him.

Maul’s eyes were glowing perhaps more fiercely than ever but… his brow was furrowed, and he seemed to almost be questioning himself, and it seemed as if he didn’t know what the answer to that question could be.

He had since deactivated his lightsaber and Lorelei found that during the course of their melee, day on Mandalore was fast becoming night, as the fading sunlight caught on the Zabrak’s crimson face.

Night was coming.

A Voice. His voice. “It is promising. But you will need training.”


	4. Chapter 4

"No."

The word hadn't even been spoken – it had been forced out, spat, resented. In the skies up above, so distant, an eagle cawed, swept downwards — Lorelei swallowed, knew that the bird had found its prey. Maul was circling her, hunting, waiting, and every one of his movements were calm, considered, whilst she felt nothing but confusion.

For the first time, Lorelei found herself not only thinking about him but thinking _for_ him. It was as if she was… sympathising. No. She was dreaming. She must've been delirious. She wouldn't – _couldn't –_ sympathise with him. With him. With that. With what he had done.

And yet. Something must have made him like that. No one was born with such innate hatred, anger, with such a desire to destroy other lives as if they could somehow be used to rebuild his own. There was something more to it. There had to be.

And that was what she told herself as she heard him speak again.

"No. You must concentrate. Think of nothing but—" And for once, those words of his weren't spoken with malice, didn't shake with anger.

She nodded. "Yes. Think of nothing but myself, of the Force and I and what I will use it to do."

The fact that she had not only interrupted him but had also _correctly_ guessed what he was going to say didn't unnerve him. It impressed him, and for the shortest of moments, she thought that she could see that pride in his face.

She concentrated. She had never met a Jedi, never even seen one, and it occurred to her that she had nothing but stories and rumours to paint a picture of those Force-wielders to her. Maul was a Sith. She knew that. His name had been scattered far and wide throughout the galaxy and now his place on Mandalore seemed cemented, carved into stone and impossible to remove.

Again, concentration. Her eyes closed, she looked at nothing but the blackness that was before her. Maul had brought her to, a place that was nameless, undiscovered and unvisited, only mentioned in the rarest of the maps, situated on Concordia but far from its disused mines. Ancient ruins, frequented long ago, stood and crumbled all around them. Moss and algae formed a carpet of green, slowly creeping along the scratched stone of the ground, eating up everything that was in its path. In that circle of fallen boulders, she sat, cross-legged, her palms against her knees.

It was beautiful. Peaceful. Empty.

Maul's mechanical footsteps, heavy on the ground, did not break her out of her reverie – it would take more than that. The Zabrak watched, lightsaber at his hip, arms folded. The sun had almost gone now and its waning light cast a bronze glow over Sundari. The unknowing city twinkled in its dome and yet he and Lorelei were far from it, invisible to it, on a distant hill on the moon. Maul desired to break free from all of the place's history and to look towards the future. His future. Where Savage would fit in, where Lorelei would fit in… he wasn't so sure. There were some events that he could not control.

Then there was a shudder. Those great boulders, once at the sway of the Ancient Mandalorians, were trembling, thundering, as they shook off their dusty blankets. They were being lifted, and they groaned under their own weight, and Lorelei gave a gasp of joy. Native birds somewhere up above squawked and called, flustered by the sounds and the movements.

Desperate to see, to know, Lorelei opened one of her eyes, saw that two of the fallen pillars were now hovering a few feet off the ground. A few feet. And yet it was something. They weren't stuck where they had fallen centuries ago. They were moving and she was the reason for that.

Then Maul's words cut through her, made her swallow her joy. "No, you must concentrate. A Sith's power comes from their ability to control what they see and to use their emotions." There was… despair on the edge of his tongue, and he was ready to speak it. But he didn't.

She closed her eyes and saw the darkness once again.

The clinging moss was torn from the great rocks and those few feet became a little bit more. She could not see but the corner of Maul's mouth had stretched into a dark smile. There was a feeling, a _strain,_ in Maul's chest that had not been there for a very long time — and he pushed that pride back downwards.

It was then that her hands began twitching and she realised that she wouldn't be able to keep it up forever. The boulders were still floating, hovering dozens of feet above the two of them, and Maul took the slightest of steps forwards, one hand a little bit outstretched, as if he had considered interfering. But he did not do anything.

"I can—" Lorelei breathed, blinking away the sweat that was beading past her eyes, blowing the brunette tendrils of hair out of her mouth. "I can feel—" She could feel so much, and it _hurt._ She could feel not only the rocks but what they stood for — she knew who had put them up, who had carved the glyphs into them, what those glyphs meant and what had caused them to crumble into disrepair.

And he could feel it, as well. The strength, the iron-clad concentration with which she was keeping those ages-old rocks in place, like obedient animals… or servants.

Then she couldn't hold on anymore… but she couldn't let go, either. Something was keeping her, chained, where she was, and the rocky pillars were groaning now, grunting as if they would collapse in on themselves. The ruins started to crumble and the ground was shaking. Fault-lines appeared, snaked all around them and then everything was lost in a howling explosion.

The Ancient stones split and sent shrapnel flying through the air. Maul leapt in front of her and she collapsed. Standing over her curled up body, he raised his hands and with one shove, the pillars became still and then returned to their place on the ground. It was as if nothing had happened.

Looking downwards, he frowned at what he saw. She was lying prone, on her side, and she looked so small, as if she were insignificant, vulnerable. Maul sneered. He had seen what she could do. He was under no illusions about what she might be capable of, if only he could keep her in the right direction. In the direction that he had planned out for her.

Gently, slowly, she roused herself and clambered onto her feet. She pressed a dirty hand to her head, moaned, brushed tendrils of brunette hair out of her eyes.

"Ah," she muttered, blinking at what she saw, as she saw more of their surroundings than a green and brown blur. "Did I do it? I concentrated. I cleared my mind. I made sure that I was thinking of nothing but what you told me."

She saw him raise a hand, and for a split-second, she thought that he was going to help he up. But no. He pressed a fingertip to one of his horns, pursed his lips.

He gave no answer but she didn't really need one. The debris that had found its way onto her armour, onto his tunic, gave her an answer. She had lifted the pillars – actually lifted them. She had held them, commanded them as if they were soldiers in an army. It was what that armour might be for that made her go charging after Maul as he stalked away.

_What's happened to you? What could have made you the way you are? You're twisted, torn up by anger and hatred. This… this doesn't happen easily. Surely someone must deserve this? He must have been left, abandoned, discarded, for so long. Left with nothing but his own mind, his thoughts, to comfort him… to torture him._

"Are you even paying attention?"

She blinked, nodded furiously though she didn't know what the question had been. "I'm sorry—"

Maul scowled, shook his head and kept walking. And they walked together, Lorelei keeping a few feet behind him for as long as she could.

And then.

The Zabrak snarled, threw her a glance. "If you can't keep up, perhaps you shouldn't be coming."

He had said it to test her, to anger her and she wasn't blind to that. Taking a deep breath, she broke into a jog, caught up with him, matching him step for step. They had covered more ground, walked further, than she had expected, and she could see the ship now. Her legs, her body, her bones, _ached._

Then the snarl became a smile, self-satisfied.

"My Lord, your ship is—"

Then Lorelei stopped, watched absently, swallowed, felt something stick in her throat, as Maul raised a gloved hand, and fingers curled into a fist. He didn't even _look_ at the Mandalorian guard stood outside of his ship. Didn't even need to maintain that eye-contact to use the Force to slam the man into the ground, sweeping him out of the way.

The Mandalorian groaned, crumpled to the ground and wheezed.

She thought about asking what the guard was going to say — and then thought twice, thought better if it _._ She recognised the guard's armour - red flames creeping up the black paint and horned helmet. She got the feeling that Maul wasn't someone you said no to, not unless you had a good reason and could defend yourself. Not unless you were prepared for the consequences.

She wasn't, was she?

He stalked, shoulders high, up the ramp, into the loading bay. With a snort, he looked back as the guard clambered to his feet with a grunt, and as Lorelei leapt onto the ship, panting.

In but a moment, she had caught her breath. With a hand pressed to her heaving chest, she forced herself to look up at Maul. Tall, imperious… but not invincible. Though he might have liked to think so. No one was, were they?

No.

Definitely not.

Lorelei tried not to twitch as she heard the Mandalorian stagger up the ramp, and though he was wearing a helmet, she could feel the man's eyes on her, and she knew the questions that he wanted to ask her.

And yet, _she_ wasn't the one who was helping Maul, who was supporting this pretender. No but the guard was. He was working _for_ Maul. And that was what Lorelei told herself.

"You we're going to say something, guard."

The Mandalorian tore his gaze away from her and followed Maul up to the cockpit. "Yes, my Lord."

The Zabrak had since taken one of the pilots' seats and was tapping his long fingers on the console, a tired look on his face. "Well?"

"The ship, my Lord—" he broke off, thought of that strange woman, with her delicate face, clad in the armour of his homework. "It's ready, my Lord."

Maul rolled his eyes. "Take us back."

The guard nodded, swiftly took his place at the helm, deciding that he would have to _tell_ himself not to look to his left, for fear of catching the brooding Zabrak's eye.

Maul, though, wasn't even thinking about him — didn't even care. His fingers ceased tapping on the console, instead feeling one of his horns, as he heard footsteps echoing up the metal walkway.

Lorelei cleared her throat. "Shall I sit.. here?" she asked, nearly losing her balance as the guard pulled back on the throttle and the ship hauled itself into the air.

Maul waved a hand lazily in her direction, which she took to be a yes. She sat. And she was silent.

They were in the air for but a few minutes, and the ship had landed gently, kissing the ground. Lorelei had spent the majority of the short journey trying to calm her breathing, trying to lower that heartbeat, trying to stop herself from going over _again and again_ what had happened with this ruins. What she had done to them. They were so Ancient, so old, and had been there for so long, and yet now they were gone. Gone. Because something inside of her had awakened, something that had been there all along… and that _scared_ her. Scared her so much.

Silently, Maul got to his feet, slid between the seats and was gone. The Mandalorian guard turned his helmeted head ever so slightly but there was something in the air, and he seemed afraid. So he bent back over the controls, appeared busy with the landing procedures.

Lorelei took one last look, bit her tongue. She had left the ship in a second and was running to keep up with the Sith as he stalked down the pathway.

"We don't all have mechanical legs, you know," she breathed.

But she had apparently spoken those words loud enough for him to hear. His narrowed eyes met hers, and a smile — dark — curled onto his lips.

"We don't all have the compulsion to talk in order to fill silences."

She could still breathe, could still take in air. Perhaps he had decided she wasn't even worth Force-choking? She sighed, became aware that tiny little beads of sweat were tickling her forehead. Licking her lips, she tasted that saltiness, winced.

And she walked in silence, head down, aware of the eyes scrutinising her as she made her way down the pavement. Hushed voices, guards standing to attention, ships arriving and departing at the port. Again, she had to jog to keep up with Maul's long strides.

The Zabrak threw her a suspicious glance then pursed his lips, said no more and they had soon returned to the Royal Salon.

"Leave us."

They — the Mandalorian guards, the men who Lorelei, once, would've promptly called traitors — left. She became aware, so very aware, of her own breathing then, of the rise and fall of her chest, of the air as it racked in her throat.

"Kneel."

It could've been a million words that fell from her mouth then, a million questions and worries. But there was only one. Fear.

_No._

But there was nothing in Maul's eyes that concerned her, that gave her reason to travel down that road that she had been thinking of. He was serious, stoic, golden gaze staring.

"I am not only Mandalore's ruler. I am _your_ ruler." His tone was dangerous, cut like a knife and she could taste the blood. "And you ought to show me the respect befitting someone of such a position."

"I will never bow down to you."

A shock, low and visceral, shuddered through her, as she realised that it wasn't Maul's words that had scared her. No. It was her words, spoken with such confidence that they hardly seemed to be her own.

_I will never bow down to you._

For so long, she had been a stranger to hatred. She hadn't known how to awaken that feeling. But now. Now it was brimming to the surface, bubbling, and was ready to escape.

She dragged her gaze over him, watched him as closely as she dared to watch him. And she wanted — actually _wanted —_ to fight him. But no lightsaber had been drawn.

Maul swept over to her, crossing the distance in mere seconds, and then she bowed her head, wondering if she had at last been right to think what she had been thinking. If she would hear the hum of a lightsaber, feel it whip through the air and then… feel nothing.

But he shot her a glance. It wasn't a glower… and it morphed into the slightest, the grimmest, of smiles. "Then I haven't made a mistake in taking you on as my Apprentice."

"Your Apprentice?" Her bottom lip was quivering. She bit down on it and there was that metallic taste again. In that split-second, she reached her mind out… for the Force or for whatever could help her, for whatever could give her answers, and she got nothing. The Zabrak was empty, motionless.

"My Apprentice."

Silence.

So much silence. She clasped her hands, traced the grooves where ages-old dust from the destroyed rocks had fallen, stretched her fingers to try and fight away the ache.

And in that silence, Maul had stalked over to the – _his –_ throne. He pressed his commlink, waited.

"Brother – come to the throne room. It seems that we will have a guest staying with us."

Lorelei assumed that Savage had, perhaps, been waiting in some nearby room, probably ready to pounce upon her if she tried to harm his brother. Not that she would've – or could've – dared to challenge the Sith Lord.

In the low evening light, Sundari glistened, shone, reflected, all around them, and she knew she should have felt warmer, brighter, better, than she did. But those feelings went away as soon as they appeared and she was, once again, left all alone. Alone but for the two Zabraks and their watchful glares.

Savage's thunderous footsteps came to a pause beside her and she had long since drawn her head up, ready to meet his eye. He snorted, gave her what she may have described as a _curt_ nod, if she didn't know who he was. There had been talk of him – of a monster rampaging throughout the galaxy, destroying cities in both the Core Worlds and the Outer Rim Territories. Those stories told of someone built like a man, with a man's eyes and a man's voice – but the being did not have a man's powers. He possessed so much more, was capable of so much more – and it always involved destruction, always left people in despair. It scared her – or, at least, it would have scared her if she hadn't experienced what she had, and in so little time, as well.

There was that mocking, leering, choking sunlight again, and she closed her eyes.

A voice rumbled next to her. "Brother, what do you want to do with the Mandalorian traitor?"

"I am no traitor," she hissed, steeling herself, stealing a glance up at the hulking Zabrak.

His yellow brow furrowed, he didn't look down at her. "Not to Mandalore, no. But you are to us."

She didn't _care_ about that, didn't _care_ what he thought. But something about her had… impressed Maul, and he didn't seem keen to discard her. And it hurt her so much because she didn't know whether to feel proud or disgusted about that fact. Either way she looked at it, Savage was right. She had betrayed her people, hadn't she? She wasn't Mandalorian, no. But she had been raised as one and now she had done a Sith Lord's bidding, demonstrating her strength and her prowess with the Force.

But then.

She had the sense – whether it was the Force or not, she couldn't tell – that she would betray Maul, too, eventually.

Consequences.

Maul drummed his fingers on the arm of the throne, eyes dark yet clear. "Let's not argue." The he swept back to his feet, his gaze wandering over to the large windows. At last, the star sunk below the horizon, and the moon stole over its domain.

Distant stars sparkled, distant ship engines rumbled, not so distant words echoed in her ears.

"You have impressed me, Brother," Maul said. "And that is not easily done."

Lazily, thoughtlessly, Maul reached down, curled his hand around his lightsaber, seemed to consider but did nothing about it. "This – Mandalorian," he carried on, throwing a glance in Lorelei's direction.

She nodded warily, brushed her out of her face.

"She will require quarters here in Sundari. It's a dismal place but until we manage to secure a base that's more to our liking, this will have to do."

Savage nodded.

Maul's hand left his lightsaber. "I do hope that that will meet with your approval, my Apprentice."

His sneer, his arrogance, could have made her sick, and she had heard that word – _apprentice –_ far too many times in the one day.

"What about my training?"

The Zabrak pursed his lips. "It will begin tomorrow. You would do well to not let me down."

_Apprentice._


	5. Chapter 5

Falling. Wind blew, hurtled around them, and the ship was _screaming,_ spinning and twisting in the dull roar of the suffocating air. The sky became one with the sea. Vertigo. Nothing but uncertainty and chaos and – well, it certainly felt like they had been shot at, like they had been caught.

But they would get away.

And he was a Jedi. He remembered, thought, centred himself, tried – tried not as hard as he would have liked to – to detach himself from everything. Tried to block out the anxious yells of the clones as they were thrown against the bulkheads, as they collided with the ship’s fuselage. As some of them were flung out of the ship altogether and were sent, free-falling, downwards to the planet below.

Whichever planet it was.

Obi-Wan couldn’t remember seeing the planet on any maps, not on any of the maps that he had looked at recently. It was a lost world, and when the nightmare of the ship spinning out of control finally stopped, they would be lost, too.

There had been – he paused, though, considered, reconsidered. How many had there been? It wasn’t hate, no. But there was something boiling up inside of him now, a feeling that he might have described as shame. Maybe it was closer to guilt? Guilt over not knowing how many clones had been stationed with him, nevermind their names. Not all of them, anyway.

With their helmets on, soldiers to the very last, they were faceless. But he didn’t have to let them be nameless. He would check the manifests, he would report back to command, he would… No, there were so many choices that he could’ve made, so many routes that he could’ve taken. But no. A twisted laugh ricocheted through him, biting at his body. He could almost _hear_ himself talking to Anakin, telling him as if he were still his Padawan and not a Jedi Knight not to let his emotions, to let his _personal feelings,_ get in the way of a mission.

He had felt like this with Satine, and that distraction had ultimately proven nothing but pain, sorrow, loss. It had left him not feeling numb, as he had been expecting – he felt anger, a feeling that he hadn’t experienced in so long. A feeling that hadn’t been paraded about in front of him, mocking and leering and all-consuming, since he had seen his own Master slain.

_Master Qui-Gon! No!_

There was his own voice again, the only sound that he could hear. It was easy to ignore the defeated roar of the ship’s broken engines, and it was easy, again, to put up a screen in between himself and the clones who had nothing but their strength to hold them into the ship. He couldn’t use the Force to keep everyone safe. Not even Master Yoda could’ve done that.

Yet he should have been concentrating, should have been concentrating on holding himself, and as many of his men as possible, into the ship. But there was that sensation – hungry, devouring.

And it all came from that same face, with those same flaming eyes, with those same _hateful_ words spilling out of that same _hated_ face. No. Not _hated._ Obi-Wan bit his lip, swallowed down that word. A Jedi did not hate.

Darkness.

“General.”

Nothing. Still darkness. But perhaps a few sounds – perhaps someone saying, and then _shouting,_ his name.

_“General.”_

Obi-Wan shot into a sitting position, pressed a blackened hand to his forehead, realised that he was squinting, fighting off the bright glare of a cold sun.

In the star’s white embrace, a mirage of figures was peering down at him. He recognised what they were holding – blasters. And they were charged, ready to fire. He wondered if – and then doubted that – they were on stun.

But those weapons were held limply, barrels facing the ground. The ground. Ah, interesting, Obi-Wan mused. They were on the _ground,_ and it was white, grey. But not the white and grey of a ship fuselage. No. Snow.

Blinking, fending off the bright sky all around them, the Jedi swallowed, stared. Then his features broke into a smile, defeated but amused.

“Commander,” he said, speaking as if his breath didn’t feel like tiny needles, as if his throat wasn’t being scratched by thousands of tiny icicles. “It seems that I was knocked quite unconscious by…” And then he lost his train of thought, and Cody saw that.

“We’ve crashed, General,” Cody finished, and though he had his helmet on, Obi-Wan was sure that the clone’s brow would’ve been furrowed in concern. He threw up his arms. “It looks like there aren’t any survivors. I mean, apart from the four of us. I thought, perhaps, that more of the lads were okay but…”

The Jedi groaned, heaved himself into a standing position, felt Cody’s firm hands supporting his bruised arms.

“Ah, thank you, Cody. There’s no one else?”

Cody shook his head then paused for a moment. He felt slightly warmer, he supposed, than the Jedi did, for he had his helmet. But he knew that his brothers – whether a few or many – had perished, and he himself was suffering from little more than a sprained ankle. If he held his foot in exactly the right position, and did not move it, it almost felt painless. Almost.

So he reached up, removed the helmet, held it loosely at his hip. Sharply, he turned to face his surviving troops.

“Dynamo, do we know where we are?”

Dynamo gave a grunt of uncertainty, shrugged his shoulders. “The navigational system was destroyed in the crash, Sir. And it looks like there isn’t a settlement nearby.”

Next to him, Knox folded his arms. “There’s nothing, Sir. Whilst you were sitting with the General here, Dynamo and I returned to the ship but it’s nothing more than wreckage now.”

The Jedi squinted in the freezing sunlight, and though there was no discernible horizon, he could see smoke rising, flames licking, rising higher and higher until it got lost in the unforgiving atmosphere, lost to those below. For a second, Obi-Wan found his mind, his memory, thinking back to the crash, to that miniscule moment in time when so much had been lost. He’d been in battles, ship crashes, disasters, before, and yet he was reminded of the fact that he didn’t even know the _names_ of all of the clones. They were given numbers and then they chose their own names or their brothers chose them for them. And now even those names were gone, lost to posterity and known only to the past.

Obi-Wan pursed his lips, scratched his beard, sighed in relief – very quietly – as he patted his lightsaber. At least he still had that. And then he closed his eyes but felt eyes on him.

“Uh, General?” It was Cody, confusion etched into his face, who had placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Cody, I’m fine.” He had said it curtly and he had said it without thinking and he could do little more than give the clone a slight smile. “Take Dynamo and Knox and survey the perimeter. There must be a better place than this where we could set up camp.”

It seemed that, in however much time had passed since the downing of their ship, they had bivouacked at the mouth of a small cave, not that it offered much protection from the white sun and the frozen air. It was something but maybe not enough.

Obi-Wan watched, detached and thoughtful, as Cody called over the two other clones.

“With all due respect, Sir,” came Cody’s voice again. Though he was a clone, Obi-Wan found himself noting, against their stark, white, empty surroundings, that he could recognise his voice, perhaps above the others. “It might be better if one of us stayed with you.”

“I can look after myself, Cody,” Obi-Wan countered, pensively stroking his beard, which, he realised, was damp with ice. “The more eyes there are scouting around, the greater our chances are of finding somewhere to camp.”

And Cody gave him a rueful smile, about to put on his helmet. “Sir, the better you’re feeling, the more chance we have of staying _alive.”_

He was a Jedi, and Obi-Wan wasn’t about to argue with the man. So he nodded, smiled, and watched as Cody took Dynamo and the two of them set out in exploration of their snowy surroundings.

Knox sighed, hand wandering down to feel for his blaster. Satisfied, he held it, took up a defensive position in front of the Jedi. The wind was harsh, relentless, and the sun, though cold as anything, was beating down upon them. Obi-Wan could not see, and he did not need the Force to know, that Knox was frowning, confused, alarmed, worried. And maybe even distraught.

They were not droids. They were flesh and blood, breathing and _real,_ and Obi-Wan was determined to see them – to see Knox, as the man stood guarding him from the elements and the unknown – for what they were, instead of for what they had been engineered to be.

“You might as well get some rest, General,” Knox said.

Obi-Wan bit down, tried to stop his teeth from chattering, and again felt for his lightsaber. His former Padawan was resourceful and abrupt and he _cared,_ and Obi-Wan had no doubts that he would find them. When that would be… he did not know.

The Force was what he had – only the Force. And he closed his eyes, sat down, crossed his legs, and centred himself. He didn’t know where they were but there was a chance that he could work it out. They had been _en route_ to Polis Massa, and they certainly hadn’t arrive _there._ He was sure of that much. He had, of course, memorised the map, and he knew that they were somewhere – but _somewhere_ wasn’t terribly helpful – in the Outer Rim Territories.

That left Bespin, Mustafar, Hoth…

Hoth.

Obi-Wan shivered, and not from the cold. Desolation. Magnificent desolation was what Cody and Domino would find, and it was what the four of them would have for company until help came or until they helped themselves.

He sighed. Easier said than done.

He was shaken from his reverie by the sound of Knox cocking his blaster rifle. Obi-Wan raised himself to his feet, gripped tighter on his lightsaber. He may have had a concussion, may have felt more tired than he could possibly remember, and yet he was still a Jedi, and he still had a duty to protect his men.

Knox lowered his rifle, and beneath his helmet, he smiled at the sight of his commander and brother. “Did you have any luck, Sir?” There was a strange, almost childish, sense of hope in his voice, and Cody regretted that he would have to be the one to let that hope down.

“I’m afraid not,” the clone said, removing his helmet, glancing over at the Jedi.

Obi-Wan relaxed his wary stance, waved Cody over. “I know where we are.”

“But how, Sir? The navigation system was completely fried,” Cody said, brow knitting together.

The Jedi tapped his forehead, and Cody smiled. “We’re on Hoth, Commander.”

Standing further out into the open, Domino gave Knox a look. “Hoth – you know what that means, don’t you?”

Knox nodded, blew air through his lips, watched as his breath almost froze in front of him. “We’re alone.”

“And we will be for a long time.”

* * *

Lorelei awoke with a start. She kicked the covers off herself. No one was there but hands were pressing on her chest and she was struggling to breathe. She was _gasping,_ looking all around herself and yet she saw nothing. Only her reflection in the window. Full lips were parted, blue eyes were wide, disbelieving, and her cheeks had flushed a dark pink. The lights flickered on and in the brightness, she may as well have been a ghost.

Dragging herself up from the darkness, she sat up, pressed a hand to her tender neck, waited until her breathing became less and less shallow. She knew what had happened, and that it hadn’t been a dream. No. It was a memory. A memory of an event that had happened so long ago that she had thought that she had forgotten it. She snorted. _Wishful thinking._

She had remembered the sour look on Savage’s face as he had opened the door and ushered – or rather shoved – her into the room. The room was minimally furnished, with a bed, some storage units, a refresher. But it was better than a cell – than her cell – wasn’t it? He obviously planned on her being there for some time. But then. She felt like she knew Maul well enough, though only for a few days, to know that he was prone to changing his mind.

The door opened silently, and Maul made no noise as he stepped inside.

“You must learn to close your mind when you don’t want it to be entered.”

She looked up at him, raked her gaze over his form, saw the lightsaber at his hilt.

“I am your Apprentice,” she muttered. “At least, I thought I was.”

Maul shook his head, tutted. “Lorelei.” He gave a long, theatrical sigh, reached a gloved hand up to his forehead, rubbed one of the small, pointed horns there. “The fact that you’re saying that tells me all I wanted to know.” He turned to leave.

But it was a necessity. She _had_ to know, had to prove herself, and she didn’t want him to leave, not least because she didn’t think she could be alone. “Master.”

Hearing that, _knowing_ that she had called him that rooted him to the spot, made him _have_ to listen to whatever she was going to say. Though he knew what it was going to be, already.

“Why would you make me relive such a horrible past, Master?” she asked, breathless, though she was telling herself to be calm. “It’s distracted me and—”

Maul growled, shook his head. “No. I did not make you. You made yourself by not blocking your mind. I was only in the Royal Salon, and yet I still managed to enter your thoughts.”

“But I thought a Sith had to use their emotions, Master?”

The Zabrak pursed his lips, his golden eyes flashed. “A Sith must use their own emotions but they must not let another use them. That is weakness.”

She knew she should’ve argued and she probably would’ve done if she hadn’t already pledged her loyalty to him. She didn’t understand him and she was horrified at the thought of him being able to understand her. She resented that she felt somewhat grateful to him, that she didn’t feel sick at even the prospect of calling him _master._ But he had let her live, had made her realise that there was _more_ than that life that she knew, more than bending your own morals to suit someone else’s morals, more than having to lose everything you held dear to satisfy selfishness and lechery.

“I will close my mind, Master,” she said softly, already shutting her eyes. She had no desire to relive that scene, that tableau of bloodshed and vengeance, a story that she had had some part, however unwilling, in writing.

“Yes?”

“But first—” Fear was pulling at her then, trying to take control of her. She screwed her eyes shut, bit her lower lip. “First, Master, would you show me? How do you keep others out? How do you channel your emotions and keep your focus?”

“My Apprentice,” he said, almost gently. “Your hate – and you will know what it is for, what it is directed at – will give your actions meaning. But you must not let it guide you. You must always be in control.” With that, he settled down on the floor opposite her, folding his legs underneath himself, and he closed his eyes.

She had heard him sit down and she was slightly curious to look, to see what it was like to have a Sith Lord in such a weak, vulnerable position. But she was concentrating now, and she needed the blackness, the blankness, to help her to focus.

“I am not a Sith Lord.”

“I… what…?” She was spluttering now. “I didn’t say you were. Master.”

“No, you didn’t _say.”_

Sheepishly, she calmed herself down, waited for him to show her, to guide her. And so Maul, placed a hand to each of his mechanical knees, breathed in, long and slow, and she began to see. Slowly, she began to understand, as she saw the peaceful void of space erupting into explosions and detonations, enveloped in the crossfire of Republic and Separatist ships. Metal creaked, canons fired, and cruisers blew up, leaving shattered remnants floating in the absence of gravity. There was a Jedi – she had noticed his long hair, his long white robes, the green light of his lightsaber as he deflected blow after blow, only to succumb and fall.

Then a pain, searing and hot and so very real, so real that she had to reach a hand down to her stomach, and then darkness. Simply darkness. The pain was still there, lingering and all-encompassing. A figure, tall, intimidating, and a reflection of Maul, though with yellow skin and a broader, more hulking presence.

And then there was the low thundering of jetpacks and the vicious howl of the wind through broken glass, as she watched a Mandalorian wielding the Darksaber. He was sidestepping, flying, firing lasers. Lorelei watched as his head was separated from his body, as he fell motionless upon the floor.

Then a woman, beautiful and full of grace, her blonde hair now dishevelled where a crown once used to sit. The most feared, most respected, most _reviled_ of her people. And then she noticed the other man, who was lying prone on the floor of the Royal Salon, his chestnut hair falling into his eyes as he stretched a desperate hand out, as the blonde woman fell.

Lorelei was herself again. She opened her eyes, gasped, felt like retching. “This is you? Master, this was you?”

Maul was already on his feet, and his silence was answer enough.


	6. Chapter 6

_It shouldn’t be this difficult,_ Lorelei thought ruefully, cursed, began to resent herself because she couldn’t do it. She had tried, and tried, and _tried._ But no. It seemed as if the day wasn’t going to go her way, as had seemed to be the case recently.

“Wallowing will not help you,” came a voice. It was her voice, in her head, telling her to calm down. To stop. To take stock. She could feel it – something – within her, a feeling that felt akin to being loved, and yet she knew she wasn’t loved, hadn’t been in a long time. No. It reminded her of feeling loved but it was not love. It was _need._

She had nothing. She had _had_ nothing. And—

“You are nothing. Never forget that.”

“I’m sorry?” She was spinning now. She span around, caught his gaze, dark and heavy in the lowlight of the strange room. The room that was hers, had been given to her, and yet she didn’t know what to do with it.

The Zabrak stood, didn’t say anything. Sometimes, he said more by saying nothing. The tattoos on his face made him a stranger. She was less grateful for them now than she had ever been because they made him so unreadable – and they rendered her so confused.

Without thinking – because it was becoming second nature now – she bowed her head. “Master, I didn’t realise you had come in.”

Maul raked his eyes over her form. She seemed stiff, still, caught. “You were concentrating. Good.”

She was going to tell him that she had tried, that she had been _trying_ to focus her emotions, to use them and manipulate them and carve them into something that would be useful to her. Into something as pure and as unadulterated as hatred. But no. she couldn’t hate her own people, could she?

Perhaps.

If they were not her people. They never had been her people. As Maul always seemed so keen on reminding her.

He knew what she had been doing, anyway. Lorelei had heard tales of Maul and his brother, of the two horned men ravaging and rampaging across the galaxy, plundering the Outer Rim Territories and setting their sights on the Jedi, on _a_ Jedi. The only one who seemed to matter to Maul. And as the picture revealed itself to her, she found that Savage was that tiny figure relegated to the corner of the painting, a mere pawn. Maybe they all were.

It nearly made her snort with laughter. The thought of _Savage,_ of all people, being insignificantly little. Maul was dangerous, and she knew she would have to take care. And yet. She _needed_ him. He, too, it seemed, needed her.

Heady with sickness, with exhilaration, she faced him, square and ready. “I have centred myself, Master.”

Long fingers rose to his chin, stroked thoughtfully. “I have sensed as much.”

“What you said earlier—?”

“Was what I told myself,” he finished before she had even realised what she was asking. “To understand your own place in the order, you must first allow yourself to be reduced, to become, if you will, _nothing.”_

“Because if you think of yourself as unimportant, you see what will become of the galaxy without you?”

Vicious, precise, he replied. “Exactly.”

“Can I ask, Master… when did you have to tell yourself this?” She was wincing now. The word _have_ had been ill-chosen. Maul, it seemed, at least from what she had gathered so far, did never _have_ to do anything. “When, I mean, did—?”

That sickness returned then, as she waited – waited millennia in a moment – for his reply.

“You can ask,” he eventually said, words spoken smoothly, slowly, even politely. “And I know what it is you’re asking, Apprentice.”

_But you won’t tell me, Master?_

A smile, amused and wicked, played upon his lips then. _I will not._

She sighed. She had her own secrets, as well, though she had the sinking, _persuasive,_ feeling that the Sith already knew those secrets. They were not secrets. Not anymore. _Savage._ She blinked, cleared her throat, cleared those thoughts.

But Maul had caught her before she could catch herself. “You wish to ask me about my brother?”

Not exactly. She was curious, yes. Curious to learn what had made him so quick to kill and to follow Maul’s requests so diligently, so without question. Perhaps he had been born like that. Perhaps it was something specific to Zabraks. Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Gently, Maul inclined his head. “Savage was my brother,” he said carefully, words pricking, harsh. “And then he was my Apprentice. He has learned much and so…” His voice become empty, and he waved a lazy hand in her direction.

“He is no longer your Apprentice. But I am?”

“You catch on quickly.”

She hadn’t. She had sensed his sarcasm, though, and she refused to let it cut her.

“You may see we Zabraks, we Sith, as the same,” Maul carried on, hands now draped behind his back. “How wrong you will realise you have been.”

And it wasn’t long until she found out how _wrong_ she was.

“Savage,” Maul said into his wrist communicator.

Silence, static. “Brother?”

The Sith’s mouth curled into a sneer, and his gaze did not waver, did not leave Lorelei’s. “Come to the Royal Salon.”

Savage, it seemed, was never one to accompany his arrival with theatricality, and so it was true of him now. He was soon standing in the doorway, paused. Then he strode over, steps long and measured.

“Brother, what did you—?”

But Maul silenced him, holding up a hand, and that quiet – that _disquiet –_ filled the room, rattled in all of their ears.

“You have impressed me, Brother,” Maul began carefully, as if he was not used to praising someone.

Lorelei had the feeling that she would never quite know how unprecedented this was for the Sith, how unlike him it was for him to speak well of another, of someone who held him in nothing but esteem and respect. Respect. A shiver. She shivered. It wasn’t respect, was it? It certainly wasn’t love.

But then.

Who was she to unpick their relationship? They were brothers, though one had skin the colour of scarlet and the other gold, and she knew it was not her place to pass judgement. Nor did she wish for that place to be hers.

She gasped, alarmed, confused, and ever so slightly worried, as she met the hulking Zabrak’s fiery gaze. Savage stared at her, said nothing. Then focused his attentions back on his brother.

“And, Savage,” Maul carried on, ignoring their split-second shared eye-contact. It meant nothing. “I would like you to train my Apprentice. You are ready now. Together, we shall take on he who has caused me – who has caused all of us – such distress, such pain, such unspeakable suffering.”

She was intrigued, yes. She was so very curious. She hadn’t even heard much about the Sith apart from fairy tales, stories told to frighten children and gullible off-worlders. Well, not including these last few days. She had heard, had seen, had _fought against,_ the Sith. A Sith. Maul.

And yet. She wanted to know exactly _how_ his brother was. They were related, apparently, and Lorelei couldn’t help but wonder how much of a say Savage had in what went on, in where they battled, in who they challenged, fought, destroyed.

“For now, I must speak to my people. Viszla—” Maul broke off, making a show of snorting with amusement. “Viszla has let Mandalore down, and the people will see – I will _make_ them see – how _I_ have improved their prospects. They will soon learn to be grateful. Sooner or later.”

Except.

Lorelei had the thought – horrible and forceful and sickening – that _later_ was probably not really an option. Not really.

And so Maul swept passed them, clicked his fingers and did not wait as two guards, wearing their horned, red armour, fell into step behind him. They disappeared around the corner, leaving Lorelei and Savage with nothing but one another’s company to separate themselves from the vast emptiness of the Royal Salon.

“I have not seen you fight,” She ultimately said, eventually refusing to fall victim to the silence.

Savage grunted, hand wandering to his lightsaber. His fingers danced upon the hilt, and he obviously thought about igniting it, if only to scare her.

“I have no one to fight,” Savage grumbled, refusing to look her in the eye.

Stomping down any concerns she may have had, Lorelei took a step closer to him, let a small smile settle upon her lips.

“And I have no weapon.”

“My brother often says that a true warrior does not need a weapon,” the Zabrak said, low.

She let that idea sit in her mind, as she turned it over, weight it, considered. “Then you do not need your lightsaber?”

He seemed to think about that for a moment. But it was for but a moment. He unclipped the lightsaber, set it down on a platform beside the throne. Lorelei flinched. As she had watched him put the lightsaber down, she was bombarded by images, threatening and visceral. The fallen Mandalorian, Viszla, his head struck from his lifeless body. The duchess, once so beautiful and serene, now crumpled on the floor of her own throne room. The Jedi, no longer wearing his robes but clad in Mandalorian armour, weeping for the woman…

Lorelei blinked, pressed a hand to her forehead, as if she could push those thoughts – those _memories –_ away. She could but try.

“Okay,” she breathed, unaware that she had even said anything. And when she looked up through her lashes, she saw that the Zabrak now had bent his knees, hands raised, palms open, a growl ready to escape his throat. He was ready for a fight and she was going to give it to him.

A deep breath, a moment to ignore her surroundings and think about the here and the now, and she launched herself at him, feet leaving the floor, fist aimed for his tattooed cheek. But there was a hand around her wrist, and her arm went limp, and she looked up, distressed, to see that Savage was smiling down at her. It seemed no trouble at all to him.

Well.

_We’ll see about that._

And with that smile, glimmering with mischief, she thrust her foot deep into his amour-plated chest. Mandalorian armour, for which she was glad now, was incredibly tough. So, it seemed, was whatever Savage was wearing. But still, he wheezed.

She basked in his look of disbelief. But it did not look long. Soon the shadows came and as the clouds floated in front of Mandalore’s sun, Savage reached his other hand out, fingers curling around her throat.

She waited.

And waited.

But he did not squeeze. She didn’t even give him the chance. Her arms were still free and she commanded them to stop their flailing. With the strength returning to her hands as Savage seemed to gather his thoughts, his senses, she swiftly chopped down on his free arm, the bones of her hand landing right where his elbow was exposed. This time, he did not wheeze but a little squeak of… not of pain but of annoyance… escaped from his lips.

Ignoring his snarl, she only smiled, as sweetly as she could do so. He let go over her throat and she allowed herself the time to gather her breath, flopping down to the floor. He was about to bend down and it looked like he was extending a hand to help her up and to congratulate her for lasting so long against him.

But she wasn’t finished yet. Not yet, anyway.

Their sparring, though, was cut short. Maul came stomping into the Royal Salon, and Lorelei and Savage didn’t need the Force to know that something was wrong. That something was going to happen.

* * *

“I don’t suppose I can interest anyone in some nice, tasty field rations?”

Domino raised his weary head, caught Knox’s mischievous eye, and his face twisted into a grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Cody grimaced, waved Obi-Wan over. The Jedi took one last look at the barrenness, the emptiness, the nothingness, of Hoth, and then he lowered himself to sit on the harsh cave ground. He watched, from the corner of his eye, as Cody uncrossed his legs.

Obi-Wan began to realise that clone armour, which didn’t really look especially comfortable anyway, was rather restrictive when it came to sitting down. Jedi robes, though, were very forgiving.

He smiled, took one of the field rations from Knox’s proffered hands. Managed to conjure up a look of appreciation, and as he bit into it, he was reminded of why he hated them so much.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” came Knox’s bemused face. “How you can hold something that tastes of _nothing_ in such contempt?”

Domino ignored the dangerous glint in his brother’s eye.

“General, it’s very unlikely that we would’ve come across a planet with no intelligent life,” Cody ventured, picking at his helping of the field rations.

The Jedi reached a hand up to his beard, stroked thoughtfully. A chill blew past his face and he gave Cody the most reassuring look he could. “Most unlikely.”

“You couldn’t—?” Cody started, catching Obi-Wan’s gaze purposefully.

Realising that everyone – Cody, Knox and Domino – was looking at him, hanging on his every word, for he was a _Jedi,_ and he had powers that none of them had. No amount of training, of information being drilled into them at the academy on Kamino, could’ve prepared them for this. Neither could training by the Jedi but Obi-Wan wasn’t all too keen to let them know that.

“Couldn’t I use the Force?” he eventually asked.

“I mean, General—”

Obi-Wan shook his head, gave him a kind smile. “A Jedi is never not using the Force. I have been looking, thinking, ever since I woke up here. Ever since you woke me up.” He sighed. “I have an idea that there are some creatures, most probably little.”

There was silence, and it seemed for a long moment that the whole planet was quiet, nothing but the howling of the wind and the cracking of ice. Somewhere, too far up above for them to see, an owl hooted then flitted down, perched its little feet on a wilting tree branch. But that was in the far distance, and they couldn’t see that.

And then.

“I—” Obi-Wan started, faltered, frowned. “Cody, you and Domino didn’t manage to salvage anything from the ship, did you?”

Cody groaned, shook his head. “Not really.”

“What do you mean? No technical equipment? Nothing we could use?”

The clone sighed. “No, Sir. Only a few rations. The electrical systems were all fried and the guidance, navigation, weapons… well, they were completely gone.”

Domino huffed.

The Jedi saw the annoyance in Domino’s tattooed face and tried his best not to show that he, too, was feeling much the same. “I only ask because I think there’s something nearby.”

Not an owl then.

Knox, who had been standing guard, had up until now been wondering _why_ exactly he’d been posted for sentry duty. The planet was desolate, a wasteland, and the only lifeform other than themselves that they seemed even remotely likely of encountering could’ve come from their imaginations. The clone, though, didn’t think that his imagination was _that_ good.

The whistling wind was joined by a low-pitched roar, echoing throughout the barren landscape. The frosted ice above the entrance to the cave, above Knox’s head, shook and fell, and when he took off his helmet, he noticed little flecks of snow.

He ran his thumb over the white coating, smiled. And then that smile dissolved into a frown. Fingertips burning from the coldness of the helmet, he caught his commander’ eye.

“Uh, Commander,” Knox began. “I’m sure I heard something.”

But it wasn’t Cody who answered. Obi-Wan swept to his feet, drew his robes around his shivering shoulders, and gave Cody a meaningful nod.

“Men, I suggest you get your blasters at the ready.”

Knox and Domino exchanged confused glances for but a second, and then they had put their helmets back on, hands poised on their blasters, ready to fire.

“Well, I think Knox has verified your sense,” Cody murmured to Obi-Wan.

The Jedi gave a half-smile, regretted that he couldn’t say otherwise. Then his hand came to rest on the hilt of his lightsaber, and he came to stand at the entrance of the cave, as the snow carried on falling, and that distant owl flew away.

Then the snow was churning, the ground giving way underneath them, the sun piercingly bright, as Obi-Wan realised what had made the noise. He had read about them in the Jedi Library, he had teased Anakin so many years ago for being afraid of them, and yet, seeing a wampa standing barely a few feet away from oneself was not a laughing matter.

The wampa stood perhaps ten-feet tall, protected from the freezing cold by its thick fur which was pure white apart from the little bit around its mouth. Here, it was matted and coarse and yellowish. It roared again, and that noise was far more unsettling when it came from a much closer distance, spittle flying from its blood-soaked jaws.

Obi-Wan leapt forwards, activated his lightsaber, and the aquamarine glow glinted in the wampa’s grey horns. The Jedi bit his bottom lip, as the clones came to stand around him, blasters ready and waiting. Cody had raised his hand, holding off Knox and Domino.

Lightsaber glowing, buzzing, in his hands, Obi-Wan crossed in front of the wampa, caught its eye. The creature growled, spat, clawed in the freezing air, as if trying to grasp him. But Obi-Wan was too quick, and he knew what the creature was going to do before it did it.

“General, shall we fire?” Cody shouted. “A few blasts ought to finish it off.”

Obi-Wan considered, thought about that. Cody knew his weapons and Obi-Wan realised that he was probably true in saying what he had said. A few fires of the blasters would most likely wound the creature enough to keep it away from them.

But.

He was frowning now, and he ultimately shook his head at the commander. “No. I would like to try something.”

The wampa was still there, read to pounce and grab at one or all of them, its sharp claws outstretched. But Obi-Wan deactivated his lightsaber, and the blue glow disappeared, as he took the tiniest of steps closer to the creature. Its breathing was haggard but Obi-Wan’s breathing was calm.

Every bit of him was calm as he took yet another step forwards, snow shattering gently underneath his boots. He clipped his lightsaber back onto his belt then raised his hands, lowered his head ever so slightly. He thought of the Utapaun varactyl, Boga, and smiled, realising that he, the clones and the wampa weren’t resigned to their fates.

“We mean you no harm,” he said softly, so quietly, though the creature seemed to be able to hear him, if not understand him, over the vicious wind.

And Cody, Knox and Domino could do nothing but watch, blasters lowered, eyes wide.

The wampa snorted.

Eyes closed, Obi-Wan reached out again with the Force, found the wampa. “I am sorry. We didn’t know this was your den. If we did, we never would’ve come here.”

Silence. Snow.

Cody opened his mouth, though he had no idea what he was actually going to say. He stayed quiet.

“We haven’t gone much further into the cave,” Obi-Wan carried on, hands still raised.

The wampa cocked its head, and it seemed slightly less threatening. Those horror stories that the clones had heard about them from the Jedi and locals of Coruscant nearly seemed to be fairy tales.

“We haven’t gone anywhere near your baby,” the Jedi finished, opening his eyes slowly, to see that the wampa had backed away. Then he nodded to Cody, gestured to their little makeshift camp at the entrance to the cave.

Cody groaned, ducked back into the cave. Ignoring the wampa’s renewed cries, he collected their belongings – a few blankets, rations, torches, blasters. Knox and Domino took them haphazardly.

Then Obi-Wan bowed, lead the clones away from the cave. The wampa’s cries echoed after them, though the creature sounded less aggressive. Cody stole a glance behind, saw that the wampa had retreated into the cave, into its home, and he pursed his lips in order to suppress a smile.

The cave was now no longer theirs, and now they were alone on a planet that was filled with nothing but snow and ice and emptiness.

“There are some creatures, most probably little?” Cody repeated, catching Obi-Wan’s eye.

Obi-Wan smiled, kept walking.


End file.
